Not So Fast to Grow Up
by HallowedNight
Summary: Quicksilver is turned into a mischievous three-year-old by an unfortunately-placed mutant. Now, with the help of Logan and Hank, Charles and Erik must sort though their pasts, decide their future and work thought their feelings for each other while dealing with an impending war…and, even more terrifyingly, an unruly (and lightning fast) child. - (Fluffy Charles/Erik)
1. Chapter 1

It was to be expected, thought Charles as he gazed at the ceiling of his study, that _something_ would have gone wrong while they were springing Erik from prison.

Of course, the one _something_ he wasn't prepared for was Pietro – Quicksilver, the boy preferred – being turned into a three-year-old by a disguised mutant that Logan hadn't knocked out in time.

Charles sighed and closed his eyes, acutely, almost painfully, aware of how irritating his next few days were going to be. The nearly unbearable prickling sensation creeping up his spine was now the only reminder of his forsaken medicine; he knew his powers were needed and had taken his quiet time to push the new barrage of voices inside his head to the edges of his awareness.

Erik… Charles reached out with his mind, only just brushing the other man's consciousness. Erik hadn't tried to escape or kill anyone so far, a fact for which Charles was extremely grateful; though he still wasn't entirely comfortable with the man's presence, he couldn't deny that he would prefer Erik's help with his current…condition than Logan or Hank's. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but just thinking about the man now making his way towards the study made Charles flush uncomfortably.

The telepath's eyes flicked to the door as Erik slid into the room and quietly shut the pair of them inside. Immediately turning his eyes to the far corner, Charles ignored the knot forming in his gut and spoke quietly.

"I'm going to…need some assistance." It took nearly all of Charles's control to hide the pink tinge he knew was fighting to creep onto his cheeks, but he pushed himself into an awkward sitting position and waited for Erik to return from the closet with his chair. The thing was slightly dusty, so Erik ran his hands over its brushed metal surface a few times to dislodge most of the traces of disuse.

"Are you sure about this, Charles?" Erik's voice was low as he knelt beside Charles, still stubbornly refusing to look his old friend in the face. That voice hit just the right frequency to send of all Charles's heartstrings thrumming; he had nearly forgotten what that silken baritone could do to him, until Erik crashed back into his life and brushed clean the good memories just as he had the bad.

"Of course I'm not sure," Charles snapped, crossing his arms as he reminded himself that it was Erik's fault he was in this position in the first place. "Just help me in there, would you?"

Erik rolled his eyes but obliged, carefully supporting the bulk of Charles's weight as the man shuffled and winced his way into the chair. After allowing himself a moment for the pain in his back to subside, Charles glanced up at Erik and took a deep breath.

"So, how bad it is?"

Erik tilted his head slightly. "How bad is what?"

"Quicksilver."

"Ah. Well-" As if on cue, an enormous crash followed by a high-pitched wail sounded from the floor above, causing both men to flinch in sympathy just as much as surprise.

"I believe that'll be Hank," the young professor all but sighed as he pushed the double doors to the study open. Erik followed him into the entryway, raising his eyebrows slightly as a small, faintly silver blur shot down and back up the sweeping double staircases leading to the upper floors. The blur was soon followed by Hank, who was soaked from head to toe and brandishing a table leg like a medieval mace.

"You destructive little bastard! I'm gonna string you up by your hairless little- Professor!" The young man stopped dead at the top of the stairs and ran a hand through his hair, which was currently a deep shade of blue that clashed horribly with his now beet red forehead.

Charles couldn't help but quirk a wry smile in Hank's direction. "I see our little guest has gotten into some trouble."

"He smashed the big fish tank!"

"The one-hundred and fifty gallon one?" Erik chimed in.

Hank nodded, apparently too overcome for words.

"Damn. I liked that tank."

"You're tellin' me," Hank growled. "I had to put the fish in the bathtub with some saltwater tablets, and they won't like that at all…"

Logan chose this opportune moment to clomp down the staircase opposite Hank, Quicksilver perched happily on his hip. The bulky man, who had been sleeping judging by the state of his hair, raised one eyebrow, peeved as usual. "Did you lose something?"

Quicksilver giggled at Hank's incredulous spluttering, but quickly buried his head into Logan's neck as the blue-haired man waggled the chair leg like an old schoolmarm and began giving the child a tongue-lashing of a lifetime.

Erik hid his chuckles behind his hand, and even Charles couldn't control the laugh that bubbled up from his chest. Perhaps, he thought as Quicksilver wriggled from Logan's grasp and appeared on the other side of the room with Hank's makeshift weapon held aloft in triumph, this little terror is exactly what they all needed…

* * *

**Please ignore any horrible OOCness… This will probably be continued, because I just love this idea and they're all just so awkward and adorable. Also, I know Quicksilver is Peter in DoFP and not Pietro, but I like that name more, so there-**

**Disclaimer: X-Men and any related characters do not belong to me. Nor does the cover image. I own only the idea and my writing, I suppose.**

**Enjoy~!**


	2. Chapter 2

Erik watched quietly, stifling chuckles, as little Quicksilver berated Hank. The pestering was incessant, and Erik knew that, if he was in the still-very-blue-haired mutant's position, he would have hung the kid by his oversized goggles long ago…or at least pretended to. Erik knew he couldn't bring himself to hurt the kid; he was irritating, yes, but simply _adorable_.

"Uncle Hank is fixing the tank, Uncle Hank is fixing the taaaaank," sang Quicksilver as he skipped leisurely back into the room with the caulking gun said 'uncle' had requested just seconds earlier. Hank rolled his eyes but couldn't disguise the tiny smile that quirked his lips at his new title. Though Quicksilver could be immensely annoying, he was loyal and loving and had already wormed his way into the hearts of all his newfound babysitters. He was smart for his new age as well; though he certainly wasn't functioning on the same level that he was before he had been changed, he definitely had a quicker wit and sharper tongue than most three-year-olds.

After wiping away Hank's smile by dropping all the caulking equipment in a heap at the man's feet, Quicksilver bounded into Erik's lap and wound his arms around the man's neck, his big, brown eyes all but sparkling as he gazed upwards. "Can we go play? Outside? Please?"

Erik sighed; the grownups had agreed to keep little Pietro – Erik disliked the boy's self-proclaimed nickname – inside the house, as he could easily shoot into the nearest town in seconds and be nearly impossible to find or control. Though Erik seriously doubted the boy would run away from his only real company at the moment (he seemed to have lost most of his previous memories, according to Charles's preliminary examinations of the child's mind), he couldn't deny that the boy could get into plenty of mischief and arguing with the resident telepath was not something Erik particularly wanted to deal with.

"Maybe later, darling," Erik said quietly as he hoisted Quicksilver onto his hip and stood in one fluid movement. He glanced apologetically at Hank, who waved him off; Erik had already completed his part of the fish tank reconstruction, which entailed bending some treated metal sheets to fit neatly to the corners and edges of the tank. His only real purpose for keeping Hank company was to ensure the other man didn't go insane with Quicksilver running under his feet (and because Charles told him to), but now that the tricky parts were completed, Erik figured he could venture back downstairs.

"But I'm booooored in here, and there's plenty of room outside… C'moooon…" Quicksilver stuck out his bottom lip and gently tugged on Erik's sweater, using his sweet, round face and big eyes to his advantage as he begged for playtime. Erik sighed and smiled as he descended the stairs.

"We'll go ask Charles, shall we?"

Quicksilver's ear-to-ear grin showed exactly what he thought of his idea, so he wriggled out of Erik's arms and instantly vanished. His pleading, which picked up again downstairs, drifted to Erik's ears as the man reached the ground floor and began looking for Charles, Logan and the little one; it wasn't hard to track the jumble of implorations and irritated grumbling issuing from the kitchen.

Immediately upon entering the large room, Erik wished he had stayed upstairs. Though the sight before him was hilarious to say the least, he could feel the irritation rolling off Charles in waves, and Logan wasn't faring much better. It looked as though a tornado had ripped through the kitchen, though a moment's glance told Erik the true cause of the monumental mess; Charles was _attempting_ to direct Logan, who was _attempting_ to cook dinner.

Quicksilver, who had apparently decided that having playtime was out of the question with Charles in such a state, leapt into Erik's arms and swiveled his upper body to watch the disastrous culinary action. A cookbook was open on Charles's lap, but was currently being disregarded as the telepath yelled at Logan to 'use a goddamn can opener not your oversized box cutters!' and fumed at the state of his once pristine kitchen.

Sensing that the situation was only going to continue downhill, Erik sidled over to Logan and dumped Quicksilver in his arms before taking over the mess on the counter. Cooking had always been a hobby of Erik's, and, though he was admittedly rusty after spending ten years in prison, he knew he would do a better job with dinner than fifty of both Charles and Logan.

Now that he was in a new set of arms, Quicksilver once again began to plead to go outside. Logan glanced at Charles, who slammed the cookbook shut and simply pointed emphatically towards the door. Quicksilver squealed with delight as Logan began to chase him down the hallway; Charles couldn't help but smile at how much more suited the big man was for child-rearing than cooking. It was endearingly comical.

Contented silence fell over the room, punctuated only by the occasional sound of Erik chopping vegetables or throwing something into a pan. Engrossed as he was in his work, Erik didn't even flinch when Charles spoke directly into his mind.

_You're a life saver, do you know that?_

Erik snorted. "And you're adorable when you're angry. Must we rehash obvious truths?" He glanced over his shoulder after speaking; Charles was doing his best to look cross, but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his true feelings.

"Well," said Charles aloud, "I suppose we know who's the better housewife."

"I like it better this way," replied Erik. "You can just sit there and look pretty while I finish this up." The man couldn't help but sneak a look at the flush he knew would creep into Charles's alabaster cheeks at his words. Though the smaller man was a force of nature when he was riled, Erik knew just what to say to make him hot under the collar, and he was now falling back into his misuse of this treasure-trove of knowledge. Ten years had barely changed their relationship; Erik could tell the telepath was still slightly uncomfortable with his presence and was hiding more than a little resentment under his calm exterior – both minor issues that Erik would address later – but they both seemed to have fallen into their previous routines with relative ease.

The peace that had settled around Erik's heart at this thought, however, was suddenly shattered as Charles spoke again.

"Too bad I can't _stand_ here and look pretty." The man hadn't moved or changed his expression, but he might as well have taken the knife now frozen over a half-chopped carrot, jabbed it into Erik's side and twisted it viciously.

Erik took a deep breath and placed the knife gently beside the cutting board before turning to face his old friend. He wasn't angry – more than a small part of him knew he deserved worse than backhanded insults – but he was coming to the understanding that he had underestimated the amount of animosity that would have to be worked out before they could repair their friendship entirely. He should have known this was coming.

"Charles…" he breathed, keeping his eyes locked on the other man's as he searched for words. "I can't take back what happened to you. I wish that I could, more than anything; I wished and begged and prayed for years, you must believe me. But I can't change what's happened. It tears me apart to see you like this, but I can't- I can't fix it, and I _hate_ myself for it." Erik's words felt muddled and confused, but he hoped that his eyes would portray his feelings. Charles seemed unimpressed.

Desperate for Charles to understand, Erik closed his eyes and balled up all his thoughts into a mental ball of emotion and desperation and tried his best to send his feelings toward the telepath. He invited Charles into his mind, to feel his anguish, his regret, his loneliness; a small gasp from the other man told Erik his clump of feelings had hit home. He opened his eyes and fixed them on Charles, waiting for the man's reaction.

Several deep breaths later, Charles cracked his own eyes open and glanced up at Erik. "I believe you," he said quietly, then folded his arms on the table and rested his head on top of them. Aware the conversation was over, Erik turned his attention back to dinner; he knew his relationship with his best friend was far from repaired, but at least this was a start.

* * *

**I don't really like the ending, but oh well.**

**Again, I don't own X-Men or any of these characters; they belong to their respective owners.**

**Hope you guys are enjoying the story~!**


End file.
